


All We Do Is Drive

by dontletyourheartdistractyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (also mentioned) - Freeform, (mentioned) - Freeform, (only ally isn't dead), Angst, Christmas, F/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Post-Season/Series 03B, Road Trips, based on a halsey song, with a sprinkling of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontletyourheartdistractyou/pseuds/dontletyourheartdistractyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Pausing, wondering if it’s too far, if it’s too much for him to handle, she can feel her teeth breaking through skin, biting her lip a little too hard, and suddenly, all she can think is, <b>fuck it</b>.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Take me with you.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Do Is Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TW Rare Pair Secret Santa on Tumblr. [[ON TUMBLR HERE]](http://twrarepairsecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/135767163178/all-we-do-is-drive)

Despite the weeks - or maybe months, as, to be honest, Allison has lost count of the time at this point - she’s spent in this rusty old jeep, she still can’t get used to it all.

The seat is rough against her back, the old material so worn and faded it feels scratchy against her neck, and whenever she clenches her hands against the sides whenever her companion takes a surprisingly sharp turn, some of it comes off in her hands and sometimes, somehow, it stains her fingers a dark colour.

It’s such a stark contrast against her old car, the one that held so many memories, the one she hid in the garage and never looked at again, throwing her keys into a box she hoped her father would find, just for it to get some use.

The radio, which probably worked all those years ago back when this old scrap of junk was first modelled, can barely handle itself, audio glitching most of the time. There is some lucky moments, when it will connect to one of those tacky stations that only plays Christmas music, and the joy of it makes her both homesick and regular sick. It’s worse because she used to love them sort of songs, the ones which would make you bounce in your seat and bob your head along. Now, because of Beacon Hills, she hates them. What’s worse, is she misses that place.

Hearing them makes her think of her father dancing with her, her feet on his, as her mother looked on and smiled for once, and she despises remembering that and at the same time, she wants to. It’s the former happiness she desires, but she will never achieve, all because of that little town. Only, that little town became her home, and she misses it, quite often.

Not enough to go back, however.

Stiles’ hands are clenched tight around the wheel, the tenseness of his hands betraying the joyful movement of his knee, jolting in time with the music crackling and blasting through the jeep.

Allison briefly recognises the rhythm of the song as one Stiles had introduced her to before, back when everything was simpler. Back when all he had was a buzzcut and a red hoodie, and back when all she had was long hair and a irritating amount of innocence.

The bile already starts to rise in her throat, so she fixates on something else anything but the pounding of her heart and the past threatening to come back.

There is nothing else in the car to focus on, nothing but bad festive decorations and silly, multi-coloured lights, and nothing on the road either. It’s empty, this time of night, the only things visible on this stretch of tarmac being the blinding lights of one of those 24 hour shops and the little flashes and peeks of old streets behind spiralling trees.

So, instead, she settles as comfortably as she can into the seat, sliding buds into her ears, and trying to soothe herself to sleep, as she blocks out the upbeat tones, casting small glances at the young man in the car with her.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“What are you doing?” Allison knows the answer is obvious, but the question escapes her lips without her realising, because it feels like the right thing to say. It’s probably what Stiles expects to hear, at this point._

_It should be the reaction that Allison has. Stiles, clad in an old plaid shirt she doesn’t recognise, covered in sweat and dust and stains, is holding in his arms a box overflowing with some random assortment of objects. The open door of his jeep shows seats hidden behind bag after bag and box after box, and she knows instantly what’s happening._

_He’s leaving._

_“I’m going, leaving, whatever you want to call it,” the brunette replies, plopping down the box out of his hands, running his hand through his hair, looking blankly in her direction. “Hopefully far, far away.”_

_Stiles appears little more than ill, his skin pale, a pasty white that doesn’t look healthy at all, except for the extremely dark circles under his eyes. The amber in them looks dull, dead almost, and his lips aren’t set into a smile like they used to be. Allison wonders for a moment if she looks the same._

_Settling against the back of his car, resting her head against the glass, she raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t continue talking, because really, if she was in Stiles’ position, she would be doing the same. Hell, she’s been wanting to do the same for quite some time, although she’d never had the guts to._

_Stiles was different than her in that aspect._

_“You don’t seem affected,” the boy comments, with a raised eyebrow. He seems either impressed or glad, and she imagines that someone else probably didn’t take it well._

_She just shrugs, but the curiosity is overwhelming. “Did Scott take it badly?”_

_“He doesn’t know. Probably been busy with Kira, after everything that’s happened, so I haven’t had the chance to tell him, and to be honest, I don’t really want to. He’ll try to stop me.”_

_“He’s Scott,” Allison feels a wave of fondness raise when she thinks of him, something she hasn’t felt in a while. It reminds her of the good old days, back when it was just them. Back when she had longer hair and so did he; back when the smiles were wider and the love was easier. Pressing the feelings down is hard, but she shakes the thoughts away, trying not to think of it. “Of course he would.”_

_The affection that comes over Stiles is evident, but he swallows and his heavy heart shows. “I… I don’t want to worry him straight away, too, you know? I’m mean he’s going to be worried anyway, but…”_

_The brunette trails off, and Allison can’t help but feel sorry for those sad, sad golden eyes. The thoughts make her bite her lip, because after everything, it’s almost impossible for her to comfort him._

_Her hand absentmindedly hovers over her stomach, over that scar, because while a sword may have ended up in her stomach, she hadn’t imagined how it would have been to be in Stiles’ place. Losing control over your mind… Allison had been manipulated beyond belief, but even simply being unable to move your own limbs and say your own words, having to watch everything you care for be fucked over by a being in your own body? It…_

_It was just too much._

_It was almost unthinkable, and it made it very difficult for anyone to really care for Stiles, because the same hadn’t happened to anyone else in Beacon Hills and no one knew how far to go before stopping. What would make him snap? When did silly little jokes go to far?_

_“How long till you leave?” Allison can only ask that, and hope it’s something he can answer. There’s something she wants to do, something she needs to do, and Stiles finally being able to leave, to get out as fast as he could, has brought it back into her head that it’s possible._

_She, herself, can flee._

_“Uh, an hour, or two. Why?”_

_Pausing, wondering if it’s too far, if it’s too much for him to handle, she can feel her teeth breaking through skin, biting her lip a little too hard, and suddenly, all she can think is, **fuck it**._

_“Take me with you.”_

_\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_A backpack has been slung lazily over her shoulder, as she teeters on the edge of her window, and Allison can’t help but feel dazed.  
For one, she’s about to leave her home, her father, her friends, Lydia, Scott, her classmates, her acquaintances. She’s leaving what this past year or so had brought into her life._

_But it isn’t hard._

_Her phone is in her hand, text after text flashing by._

_There isn’t one from Lydia, not like she expected it, after Aiden. Allison wants to text her back, to call her and hear those sassy comments from her best friends lips, but reassurement isn’t what Lydia wants right now, so it’s best to leave her alone._

_Suprisingly, there isn’t one from Scott either, which shocks her, but she assumes he’ll be resting, Kira at his side and in his mother’s arms, something he deserves at this point. It stings slightly, left over jealously, but it’s more from the friend side of things, rather than as a lover._

_There happens to be one from Kira, which isn’t at all shocking. Kira’s sweet, almost too sweet, on a sickening level that Allison is grateful for, most of the time._

_From Kira: I just wanted to check that you’re okay? I know it’s been a couple of weeks but everyone’s still hurt, and Scott’s worried and so am I._

_It’s comforting slightly, because Kira’s concern never feels fake, it always feels genuine. If it was anyone else, she’d probably close the phone and not reply, because no, she is not okay, but some part deep inside of her, wants to make Kira feel slightly better after the entire pack started to ignore each other._

_To Kira: I’m okay. Hope you and Scott and dealing with everything alright._

_It’s simple and short and it’s what Kira might fall for. Allison has more pressing matters on her hand that spilling out comfort after comfort._

_Slipping away the phone into the pocket of her jacket, she hears the beep of Stiles’ jeep’s horn. She knows her dad won’t recognise it as more than just a passing car. Or, at least that’s what she hopes._

_Allison takes a deep breath, and she jumps._  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When Allison wakes, the reminiscing breaks, and suddenly she’s back in the rusty old Jeep, in a vacant parking lot, eyes drowsy and the seat next to her empty.

Presumably, Stiles popped out of the car to gather more supplies, as he tends to do while she’s dozing. He probably believes she feels better when he’s nearby, and he wouldn’t be wrong on that assumption.

Honestly, Allison isn’t sure what she feels for Stiles.

She remember how she felt for Scott back then. It was an overwhelming, puppy love that broke her heart open when it finished and left her crying for days. Scott was her sun, and she was his moon. They were each other’s anchors, for a little while.

What she feels for Stiles isn’t like that.

Stiles irritates her from time to time. He’s sarcastic, almost over-the-top sarcastic, and his remarks are biting and bitter, and when he snaps it’s like an explosion of anger, and he’s never truly nice or soft - although she doesn’t want him to be. After the initial aftermath of that time, Stiles was quiet. Silent, almost. Which wasn’t right.

He was broken, defected. He wasn’t Stiles. Or not the Stiles she knew, anyway.

Sometimes, he makes her feel way too happy. On the first day they left, she had blasted Halsey through her headphones and had sulked and had cried on several occasions, until Stiles bought her mint ice cream and had cracked corny jokes and had played Mean Girls on full volume before they slept in a field.

The brunette had made go from fiercely aggravated and depressed to intensely joyful and upbeat in about an hour, and it was amazing.

But, on certain days, her feelings are so mixed that she doesn’t know where the rage starts and where the cheerfulness begins and where either of them ends.

It’s weird to her, until she reminds herself that this isn’t first love and he isn’t Scott and she isn’t the Allison she used to be.

“Uh? Ally?”

She’s thrown out her thoughts by the opening of the car door, for her eyes to be met by a Stiles with his hands full with bags and his foot holding the door open.

“You okay?” He’s frowning, his amber eyes worried and her entire attitude softens slightly.

“I’m fine, just thinking.”

“About?”

She questions the best way to reply, before waving her arms around the car, “This. How we ended up here.”

Stiles’ expression darkens for a second, before it resets back to it’s usual playful smile. “Ah, thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish.” Her tone is snappish, but her smile is gentle, and for once, it doesn’t feel forced. That’s another thing Stiles does to her.

After a few minutes of attempting to shove the stuff in the back seat, leading to her having to jump out, rolling her eyes and giving him a hand, they were both settled in the front, the crackle of the radio already fading as Stiles’ hand turned it off.

“Well, onwards?” Allison finds herself asking. The blaring Christmas lights from the shop in front are casting different colours on Stiles, and it makes her want to chuckle, so instead she focuses on the brightness of his eyes, as to not break the slightly happier than usual moment.

Stiles grins back, and Allison feels the air go out of her lungs, at this boy and his stupid, stupid smirk.

“Onwards.”


End file.
